The other day we ventured out to our old neighborhood. We visited with our favorite neighbor, who spoiled us with ice cream and cookies, and then made our way over to the local Trader Joe's.
While maneuvering down the frozen food aisle, a woman's voice called out, "Sherri!" I glanced around and stared straight at a very familiar blonde. My mind raced to recall who she was. She exclaimed, "Oh! You probably don't remember me..." But, I did. I walked over and opened my arms to hug her. I remembered the last time I'd hugged her. She gives the warmest, tightest hugs. It was at her baby daughter's funeral.
We stood in the aisle for a long while, recapping the past several years. Now, I could recall every detail of this woman's life, but I STILL can not recall her name. (That is truly another post... the inability to remember details.) Anyway, as we stood there, I remembered how much I'd admired her strength during her life tragedy. I remembered praying for her and her family, and watching her be such a good mama to her older daughter. She moved through life with dignity, and she still does.
We said our goodbyes, and I hurried through Trader Joe's to select the few items we needed. By the end of the excursion, I was anxious about getting to our next spot on time. My children were, well, being children, and happily looking at the Pet Wall and putting away their tiny shopping carts.
We made our way to the parking lot and the silliness from the children increased. It was hot. We were running late (per usual). I was annoyed. The children scrambled into their seats, and I tried to regroup, really, I did. They continued to laugh while they fumbled with their straps to click in. I snapped, "Hurry up and put your belts on." They whined about something, something silly and insignificant... at least to me.
Finally, my annoyance bubbled over, and I hollered, "Who friggin' cares, just click in already!"
I could feel the eyes on me, even before I finished the last syllable. Slowly, I turned to my left, and there she was, that old acquaintance, who'd I'd admired so much, but couldn't recall her name. She was loading her things into the back of her SUV, mid-load, standing like a stone, staring at me.
Like a dog with its tail between its legs, I jammed the car into reverse, and pulled out of the parking lot, completely exasperated with my true colors.
Since becoming an only parent... yes, only parent, as my ex is not available... I have realized many things about children and parenting. Children can suck the life right out of you. And, please, understand, I mean this in the best possible way. I adore my children, can not imagine life without them, but some days, my, oh my, they are draining. They make me tired and frustrated. So, I yell. My neighbors are probably blogging about it.
But, something that afternoon, in the Trader Joe's parking lot, shook me up. It shamed me. It weighed heavily on my mind, and I knew I needed to do something to alleviate some of the pressure, and frustration.
The next day, I received my Parents magazine in the mail. Casually flipping through the slick pages, I discovered an article entitled "Lessons From a Zen Mommy". Who couldn't use a little Zen? Some of us could use a lot.
The article was so inspiring to me, and really helped set me straight. After reading, I went straight to my computer and typed out the lessons. They are now taped to my refrigerator door. Let me share them now...
Do what you’re doing while you’re doing it.
Leave no trace.
Take just the right amount.
Practice patience.
Develop rituals.
Count your blessings.
Remember to breathe.
(Saltman 74-79)
Sometimes, we aren't ready for the lessons that life is going to give us. Sometimes, we are. I was perfectly ready for these. The way they've refocused me and taught me in just the short time they've been a part of me is remarkable.
The parking lot was mortifying at best, but you know, those worst parent moments can set you on a path for the best parent moments.
This post is dedicated to the woman whose name I still can't recall. You are a mommy hero.
Saltman, Bethany. "Lessons From a Zen Mommy." Parents. August 2011: 74-79. Print.
Sherri,
ReplyDeleteThis is my 3rd attempt at responding! Somehow, I keep losing my comment. I am humbled that you call me a mommy hero. I, like you, have mommy moments that I regret (far too often) and my kid suck the life out of me too. I know we were meant to run into each other. Things like this are not a coinidence. We are very much alike. I feel it when we see each other even though we haven't been around each other many times. It is hard to explain, but I feel a connection there. I hope that makes sense. When I lost Natalee, I remember how you reached out to me more than one time and that you genuinely cared. I feel the same way about your loss. You are an amazing woman and a terrific mother. I honestly don't recall the parking lot incident, but I remember the look of love in your eyes when you were talking about your children. It is hard to give ourselves grace, isn't it? I am my own worst critic as a mother. I set so many standards and expectations for myself and somehow always feel like I fall short. I am so thankful we were put together again. I would love to spend more time talking to you. I know I could be open and honest and would not be judged. I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Warmly,
Tammy